


A Matter of Trust

by ivanna



Category: CHAOS (TV 2011), Dragon Squad
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 10:16:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanna/pseuds/ivanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his darkest hour Michael Dorset meets a man who had to die a long time ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Trust

**Author's Note:**

> CHAOS / Dragon Squad (2005) crossover
> 
> Many thanks to Tarlan for beta reading.

Pain heralded a return to consciousness. Michael stifled a groan and tried to analyze where and in what state he was. The pain in his lifted up and twisted awkwardly arms indicated he was tied to something above his head. His head hurt like hell and Michael wasn’t sure if it was still in one piece. The rest of his body felt as if every inch of it was injured in one way or another. Michael tried to open his eyes and failed. It seemed as if his eyes were swollen shut. He tried again, and this time managed to open his right eye slightly, and he immediately regretted it. The dizziness in his head increased and waves of nausea rose in his throat. With great effort he forced his body to obey. He looked around but found nothing as darkness surrounded him. He was locked somewhere, he was beaten, he was tied and he was alone, and that was everything he knew. 

Michael tried to remember why he had ended up like this. His mind was fogged but he remembered the CIA HQ, Higgins’ office and the ODS’ new assignment. They had to go to a small Arab country and find out if the local Sultan had the weapons needed to start a new war. They had arrived in that country, found a way to get inside the Sultan’s palace and he had used that way. Michael remembered sneaking into the Sultan’s office and starting to rummage through his papers and then… then something had hit him in the back of his head. He fell on the floor, and more hits had followed. After that he didn’t remember anything. 

Michael strained his arms, testing the ropes. They hadn’t given and he doubted he could loosen them even if he wasn’t so weakened. The rest of the ODS was waiting for him outside the palace and Michael knew the boys would do everything to free him but they could be too late. Michael didn’t know why he had awakened right now and he suspected that his sixth sense - honed over the years of working with the CIA - had alarmed him and brought him back to consciousness. 

Soon enough he was convinced that he was right. He heard voices behind the door followed by the scraping of a key in the lock, and then the door opened and several men stepped inside his cell. They carried a lantern; its light blinded Michael and made him to close his eye but before then he saw that one of the men was a blond. 

-//-//-//-

Petros Angelo entered the cell, stepping behind the Sultan. He had no desire to be here but the Sultan had ordered him to accompany him and Petros never questioned orders. The Sultan’s men had saved his life when he escaped from Hong Kong laced with bullets, and he had become the Sultan’s loyal servant since then. He had no choice as he had nowhere to go, and this palace had become his home.

The lantern lit the imprisoned man and Petros looked at him idly at first, but the sight of that man raised a sparkle of interest in him, and he looked more closely. The man was severely beaten; his face was a mess, his hair was matted with blood, his clothes were torn and bloody, and Petros could only guess what injuries were hidden beneath them – but that man wasn’t broken. He held his chin proudly high and when he opened his only relatively uninjured eye, Petros could see that his mind was sharp and clear. 

“Ask him who he is and what he is doing here,” the Sultan said to Petros.

Petros stepped forward approaching the man. The man was slightly shorter than him, but the way he was tied to the hook above put their eyes on the same level. 

“Who are you?” Petros asked the man, his voice was quiet and indifferent. 

“Michael Dubois, French journalist,” the man rasped.

“Why are you here?”

“Was looking for a sensation.”

“Sensation?” Pertos arched his eyebrow in surprise. 

“Something for my magazine.”

“You are a liar,” the Sultan said. “You are an American spy.”

“Are you with the CIA?” Petros asked the man. 

“No, not a spy, just a journalist.”

The man looked in Petros’ eyes saying that with an obvious French accent but Petros didn’t believe him. This man *was* with the CIA, he was American, his name wasn’t Dubois, and he was on a mission here. Petros was sure of it, and he had no problem with killing a CIA agent. 

“Lying dog,” the Sultan swore. “I know how to make you talk.”

He said something in Arabic to his bodyguard. The bodyguard took something from the corner of the cell, then approached the captive and showed that thing to him. It was huge pliers. Then the bodyguard untied the captive’s right hand. 

“He’s going to cut your fingers one by one,” Petros said quietly. “You better start talking.”

“I told you the truth, I’m a French…”

“Save that,” Petros said tiredly. 

He looked at the man’s hand. That hand was fine and delicate with long slim fingers. It seemed a crime to cut off fingers like these. Petros turned around and said to the Sultan, “You can’t make him to talk this way. Leave me alone with him.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“If he is American, I know what to do with Americans. You know me, I can cut the man’s head off without batting an eye.”

The Sultan laughed. “I would like to have his head in my collection, but before that I need to know what he was looking for and who was helping him here. You have half an hour.”

The Sultan turned around and left the cell, his bodyguard followed him.

-//-//-//-

Michael looked at the man before him. They were alone in the cell, and Michael knew that his life depended on what that man had going on in his head. He looked strangely familiar to Michael, but he couldn’t remember who he was or where he had seen him. The pain and dizziness had stolen all of his thoughts, and Michael was afraid he would lose control over his body very soon. 

The man moved, something blazing in his right hand, and Michael recognized a wide blade of a knife. He walked up to Michael and pressed a blade to Michael’s cheek.

“I know who you are,” he whispered, his lips almost touching Michael’s ear. “You’re a CIA operative, and your men are waiting for you outside.”

“Je ne comprends pas ce que vous dites,” Michael stammered but the man cut him off.

“Stop it. Don’t play with me. Do what I tell you.”

He moved his right hand up, the blade slid over Michael’s face and his left hand which was still tied to the hook above. The blade stopped near Michael’s wrist, and then the man swiftly cut the rope. Michael’s legs gave way and he started falling down. The man caught him and put Michael’s left hand over his shoulders. 

“Listen to me,” the man whispered in Michael’s ear. “We have half an hour. I’ll get you out of the palace. Once outside, run to the east, your men are there.”

“Why are you saving me?” Michael asked. He wasn’t sure if he could trust this man, that maybe this was a trap but he hadn’t a choice but to obey.

“I don’t wanna let an American die in this hellhole. It’s everything you have to know. Come on.”

He wrapped his arm around Michael’s waist and led him to the door, opened the door cautiously and looked out to the hallway. When he was sure that the way was clear, he stepped out of the cell taking Michael with him, and they hurried down the hallway. Michael tried his best to follow the man but his strength was running out. Every step shot a bolt of pain through his body and he bit into his bottom lip, holding back moans. He stumbled and started to fall but the man held him tightly and straightened him. He never let Michael go and dragged him along the empty hallways and up stairs until they stopped at a small closed door. The man leaned Michael against the wall and pulled a key out of his pocket. The lock turned with a loud screech and they both winced and looked around but the hallway was still empty. 

“We're in an unused part of the palace, and this is a way outside,” the man explained.

‘He sure as hell doesn’t trust his master,’ Michael thought. 

The man opened the door and made sure the way was clear. Then he took hold on Michael again and dragged him out of the palace and across the yard behind the door. A tall wall blocked their way. The man put Michael on the ground and started to press on the wall. Soon he found what he was looking for, and the part of the wall collapsed leaving a hole big enough to crawl through. The man helped Michael to get outside, then followed him. They were in the desert illuminated by the light of the moon.

“Your men are there,” the man indicated the direction with his hand. “Now listen to me. The Sultan has Stingers and he's willing to use them. Also he has…”

The man listed the Sultan’s munitions, and Michael memorized his every word.

“Who are you?” Michael asked when the man finished.

“Doesn’t matter. Go!”

He pushed against Michael's chest forcing him to move before running in the opposite direction. Michael ran a few shaky steps, tripped over, fell and rolled down the slope of a sand dune. He passed out long before his body had reached the bottom. 

-//-//-//-

When Michael awakened this time he was lying on his back on something relatively soft but short. Vibration and noise surrounded him and he realized he was in a van - a moving van. The boys had found him. His body still hurt like hell but he tried to open his single working eye. When he succeeded, a smiling unshaven face came into his field of view.

“Hey lad, you made us worried,” the voice with unmistakable Scottish accent said.

“Hey Billy,” Michael rasped. “Did you find him?”

“Whom?”

“The man in black. I’m sure he was American.”

“I think you hit your head a bit too hard, lad. Here, take this.”

A pink lollipop appeared before Michael’s lips. He turned his head away. “No.”

“You need morphine.”

“It’ll make me sick.”

“Sickness is the least of your problems.”

“How bad?”

“Broken ribs, nasty cuts, severe bruises. Can’t believe you managed to escape in such a shitty shape.”

“I didn’t. He helped me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know... but he saved my life and told me everything about the Sultan’s weapons.”

“An Arab traitor? It’s hard to believe.”

“I told you, he was American.”

“All right, relax. Anyway we didn’t see anybody near you.”

“How did you find me?”

“We watched the palace and then saw you on the top of the dune. You fell down, and we ran to you. By the time we reached you, the palace had turned into a disturbed beehive. We grabbed you, put you in the van and got the hell out of there. You were unconscious for almost an hour.”

“A chase?”

“No. We’ll cross the border soon and you’ll get medical care.”

“To hell with care. I need to make a call to HQ.”

“The satellite phone is worthless here.”

“Yeah, I know, we might as well be on the moon out here.”

Michael coughed and spat blood.

“Hey, lad, don’t start bleeding inside on me,” Billy said worriedly wiping Michael’s face with a wet cloth.

“Damn,” Michael cracked and passed out again.

-//-//-//- 

A week later

Michael didn’t remember the returning to America very well. When the ODS crossed the border of the Arabic country and reached the local CIA operative there he received medical treatment and made a call to Higgins. After that the ODS was returned home. He got sick leave and spent a week at his place restoring his strength. He was in too bad shape for going to work and at the same time he hated being home. This place had nothing to do with the house he had once shared with Fay. It was empty, lonely, poorly furnished and had no soul in it. It was a place for grabbing a few hours of sleep but not for living. 

He was lying in bed reading but the book didn’t bring him satisfaction as always. He couldn’t concentrate on the text as his thoughts kept returning to the man who saved his life. Who was he? Why did he betray his master for him? Where was he now? Michael vividly saw him before his inner eyes: the tall lean blond with a face so stern as if it was carved in stone. And that face was perfect. 

“What the hell am I thinking about?” he asked himself aloud. He needed to find that man because he knew everything about the Sultan... not because he was good looking. “Maybe they really hit your head too hard, Dorset.”

But whatever the reason was, he had to find that man. He put the book away and replaced it with his laptop. He switched on the laptop, wincing when the dark screen refelcted his beaten face. He connected to the CIA database and started his search. He was sure he had seen a photo of that man so his file should be there. 

Michael worked for hours, and finally found what he was looking for when the familiar stern face looked back at him from the screen. The photo was named “Petros Angelo”. Michael remembered immediately the old case connected with this man. The Duen case in Hong Kong. Five Interpol agents and five military operatives were killed back then. Michael became lost in thoughts while looking at Angelo’s photo. 

The sound of the door opening and closing brought him back to reality. 

“Hey lad, are you up for company?” he heard Billy’s voice.

Soon Billy himself appeared in the bedroom’s doorway. 

“You look ravishing tonight,” he said glancing at Michael. “A few more days and you’ll not be so scary and will be the handsome monster once more.”

“Very funny. What are you doing here?”

“Is it a relevant question between friends when one of them is hurt?”

“Yeah, right.”

Billy walked to the bed and looked at the image on the laptop screen.

“Who is he?” he asked curiously.

“The man who saved me.”

Billy looked at the screen again, then pierced Michael with a glare. He sat on the edge of the bed and said cautiously, his face was worried, “Michael, according to what's written here, he is dead. Killed in 2005 in Hong Kong.”

“I know. I’ve read his file.”

“I hate to point out the obvious but it means he couldn’t be in the Middle East a week ago.”

“It only means we have to ask the HKPD a few questions.”

“You don’t believe the Hong Kong Police?”

“I believe my own eyes, and I know with absolutely certainty that this is the man.”

Billy shook his head. “Well, it’s your right to think what you want. So what’re you going to do now?”

“Find him.”

“Why do you need him?”

“He knew I was with the CIA and yet he still helped me. That gives us a chance to recruit him. He knows everything about the Sultan, hell, he knows everything about anybody, you just look at his track record. A man like him working with the CIA is priceless.”

Billy watched Michael during his tirade and wasn’t sure he liked what he was seeing. Michael’s cheeks - covered with faded bruises - flushed brightly, his eyes glittering feverishly, and Michael looked like an obsessed man. 

Billy voiced that thought, “Michael, that guy has become your obsession.” 

“Do you mean I’m going out of my mind?”

“Well…”

“Remember, when Rick asked ‘How do you stay sane?' I corrected him. The real question was what makes us sane? Not insane. Maybe I can’t pretend being sane anymore.”

“I always knew you were a devoutly paranoid bastard with a fevered brain.”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

“Do you need our help with your search?”

“Does the ODS have any assignment now?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Then Petros Angelo will be our new assignment.”

-//-//-//-

It took two weeks to locate Petros Angelo. Michael used his own and the CIA’s resources and finally he found Petros in Karlsruhe in south-west Germany. That quiet sleepy city was a perfect place for hiding, and only Michael’s extraordinary skills and perseverance helped him succeed. Michael decided to go to Karlsruhe alone. The ODS wasn’t happy with that decision, but Michael was adamant. His assignment wasn’t about taking down a criminal but recruiting the professional.

He arrived at Frankfurt airport and rented a car. Hour and a half later he was in Karlsruhe. He quickly found the hotel where Petros had rented a room. The hotel had a back door, and Michael deftly opened a lock there and slipped into a hallway. He took stairs to the second floor and was pleased to see that Petros’ room was the first in a row. He knocked on the door. 

“Wer ist da?” he heard the voice that matched the one he had memorized. 

“Zimmerservice,” he answered. 

A lock clicked and a door opened slightly. Petros looked out. He saw Michael and recognized him immediately. He tried to slam the door but Michael put his foot in the doorway.

“We need to talk,” Michael said firmly.

Petros let go of the door and stepped back into the depths of the room. He went to a window and stood there turning his back to the door. Michael entered the room and checked it being closing the door and locking it behind him. The room was small but neat as Petros had very few personal items. Michael's eyes switched to the host of the room.

“My name is Michael Dorset. You know who I am.”

“Yeah, I know,” Petros’ voice was quiet and soft, the wrong voice for an assassin. “How did you find me?”

“Do you know the pizzeria on the corner of Roonstrasse? They’re watching you.”

“You’re smart.”

“You aren’t afraid that I’ll shoot you in the back?” 

“ CIA operatives like you don’t carry weapons. When you leave this room you’ll leave me with a bug but not with a bullet.”

“You’re smart too, but I don’t have a bug and I’m not leaving.”

Petros turned around and looked at Michael. “What do you want?”

Michael closed the distance between them and stood near Petros, almost touching him. Their eyes met. Tension filled the room, but that tension wasn’t dangerous and had nothing to do with poison pills and guns.

“I want to make you an offer,” Michael finally whispered, sounding hoarser than ever. 

“Yeah?” Petros exhaled.

Michael looked at his lips. They were full and firm, the bottom one had a light crack in the middle. All thoughts about the CIA slipped out of Michael’s mind, replaced by a desire to taste those lips. He was sure Petros wanted the same. If not – well, it was a funny way to get killed. He lifted his chin and touched Petros’ lips with his own. Petros stilled, then his lips parted, and he returned the kiss. He put his hands on Michael’s shoulders and pulled off his coat. They started frantically to undress each other, then Michael pushed Petros backward and they fell on the bed.

-//-//-//-

Michael was lying on the bed still holding Petros in his arms. He panted hard and felt lightheaded after the best sex in his life. Sex with a man wasn’t something he preferred too often but with Petros he had no doubts that he had wanted the man. Their lovemaking was perfect, just like Petros’ body. Michael’s gaze slid over Petros exposed body. Yeah, perfect: lean, long, muscular. Ivory skin, golden hair, emerald eyes… 

'His place is in Balshik’s vault. Good thing she prefers lap-size boys,' Michael smiled as he thought of Doris Balshik.

Petros raised his head from Michael’s shoulder and looked at him. His face wasn’t stern anymore. Michael clasped Petros’ neck with his hand, pulling him closer and kissing his swollen lips. When they ended the kiss, Michael said, “Come with me to America.”

Petros pulled back and sat up in bed. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“Don’t play me for a fool. Your government will arrest me the moment I step off the plane.”

“They’ll do it if you’ll come alone, but I offer you the support of the CIA.”

“The CIA is powerless inside the U.S.”

“Theoretically – yes. But practically – no. You’ll be safe as the CIA operative.”

“You know what charges they have on me. Aren’t you afraid to offer me a job?”

“I know why you did what you did in Hong Kong, and I’m not afraid of you. Not after you risked your life to save a CIA operative.”

“The CIA needs a skillful seasoned assassin pretty much, right?” he sneered.

“Your experience and knowledge are valuable for the CIA.”

‘And for me,’ Michael wanted to add, but instead he put his hand on Petros’ shoulder. Petros turned his head and looked down at Michael's long slim fingers. 

“Many people want me dead, and I’ll be dead if I expose myself. Besides Interpol is after me too,” he said quietly. 

“I have a passport for you. A whole new I.D.”

Petros shook his head and said, “You’re damn sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

A cocky lop-sided grin curled Michael’ lips. He sat up too and embraced Petros pressing him to his chest. 

“Trust me,” he whispered in Petros’ ear. 

Petros pulled back far enough to see his face. No dark shadow marred Michael’s clear bright blue eyes. 

“Okay,” he gave up.

-//-//-//-

The next day they arrived in IAD. They passed checking quickly and without any problems and headed to the arrivals hall. Michael noticed the rest of the ODS in the crowd there. They went outside to the parking lot where Michael had left his ‘Taurus’. Michael and Petros went to the car, Petros stood near the passenger door waiting for Michael to unlock it. Michael put his hand into his pocket fishing for keys and then a shot fired. Petros’ body jerked and fell face down on the pavement. 

The ODS reacted immediately. Michael rushed to Petros; Billy, Casey and Rick ran in the direction from where the shot had rang out. Michael touched Petros’ neck searching for a pulse andfound it. Petros was alive. Quickly and deftly Michael examined Petros’ body. Petros was shot in a back. The wound was perforating, a bullet had pierced Petros’ left shoulder. Michael pulled off his coat and pressed it to the wounds trying to stop the bleeding. His movements were confident as he had extensive experience providing first aid, and because of it and his medical knowledge from college he knew he would lose Petros if help didn’t arrive soon. Petros was losing too much blood, that blood soaked Petros’ clothes and pooled beneath his body despite Michael’s best efforts. Petros moaned and opened his eyes. He saw Michael leaning over him, his lips twisted and he whispered, “I trusted you.”

“Petros…” Michael started to say, but the man was already unconscious.

The paramedics arrived and pushed Michael away from Petros. They started to stabilize Petros and prepare him for transportation to the hospital. The Police arrived too, and Michael was taken to the police station to testify.

-//-//-//-

Petros slowly surfaced from the depths of oblivion. His fogged mind stirred, and he became aware of his surroundings. The sounds and smells around indicated he was in a hospital, and the pain in his body indicated he was here because he was shot. He knew that feeling too well after Hong Kong. He lay still for a few minutes gathering his strength then opened his eyes. Yeah, he was in the hospital. The white walls and blue curtains surrounded the bed where he was lying, the varied medical equipment was placed around and hooked to his body. That equipment beeped and flashed lights but Petros had no desire to know what that all was about. He turned his head to the other side and tensed. The curtain there was drawn back and he could see the second bed in the ward and its occupant. He recognized him immediately: Michael Dorset. He was lying there dressed in the same clothes as before – a gray suit, a light blue shirt and a dark blue tie, the tie was loosened and a top button of the shirt was undone as usual. He looked relaxed, his arms were folded across his chest and his legs were crossed at his ankles. His head resting on the pillow, and he stared at something on the ceiling. Feeling Petros’ gaze he turned his head and so familiar lop-sided grin appeared on his face. 

“Hi,” he drawled hoarsely. “Welcome back.”

“Are you here to finish what you started?” Petros said, his voice sounded too weak for his liking. 

Michael paused, then sat up in bed and lowered his legs on the floor. He straightened his jacket, ran his hand through his tousled hair and only after that, he said, “Me, my team and the CIA had nothing to do with that shot. There was a leak in the passport department, and because of that the Sultan’s people found your trace. My men got the assassin who shot you but his partner is still out there.”

“Do you think I’ll believe you’re not to blame?”

“If I wanted you dead, I’ve had many opportunities to kill you.”

That was true, Petros had to admit. 

Michael got up and walked to his bed. He caught Petros’ gaze and said looking into his eyes, “Petros, I let you down. I promised safety to you and I failed. But I never wanted to hurt you.” 

“Yeah, of course, you want to use me and I’m useless dead.”

Michael wanted to say something but changed his mind. 

“I have my men standing by. Once you're discharged, I'll take you to my place,” he said changing the subject.

“I don’t need anything from you and sure as hell don’t want to be with you.”

“It's not up for debate. It's the only way I can keep you safe. Rest now.”

Michael turned around and left the ward.

-//-//-//-

Billy was sitting on a bench in the hallway of the hospital looking pale and sick.

“How are you doing?” Michael asked approaching him.

“You know about my phobia, Michael, it’s cruel to keep me here.”

“Your phobia always appears at the most amazing times.”

“You’re touchy today. How is our Mr. Angelo?”

“He’s awake but he doesn’t believe we had nothing to do with that shot.”

“And to some extent, he is right.”

“Yeah, I know. I need to remember that the CIA always has leaks and moles and idiots in command. I should have made Petros’ passport off the records. I’ll ask Fay to make a new ID for Petros’, we’ll take him at my place, trace down that Sultan’s bastard and then hopefully things will become as they supposed to be.”

“How bad is he hurt?”

“A bullet went through his shoulder above his lung. He has a broken collarbone and severe loss of blood, but the doctor says he’ll be discharged in a few days.”

“Good for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“You have to settle the problematic issue of trust with Mr. Angelo, and for you it’ll be easier to do on your own territory.” 

“Why are you so sure I wanna settle that rather than let it go?”

"Because you've beenobsessed with him since the day you met him. Don't think you want to lose him now when you've finally got him."

Michael shook his head but said nothing. Billy always understood him all too well.

-//-//-//-

Michael was at HQ asking Fay to make the documents for Petros off the books when he got a call from Billy.

“We got him,” Billy said simply.

“Do you mean an assassin? When? Where?”

“It’s a boring story, those guys are so predictable, they can’t come up with anything new. Our guy tried to use the classic trick with dressing up and pretending to be a doctor but Casey was alert and knocked him out when he was going to enter the ward.”

“Are you sure you knocked out the right guy?”

“No doubt about it, you have to look at his arsenal.”

“Good. Does Petros know about it?”

“No, and don’t think he heard our activity either. Casey worked quickly and soundlessly.”

“Okay, don’t tell him anything.”

“Roger that.”

-//-//-//-

After the assassin hired to kill Petros was arrested Michael had no reason to take Petros at his place. Of course Petros was hurt and needed constant care but Michael doubted he would believe that operative Dorset could also be an almost professional nurse. So the easiest way to get Petros to his place was hiding the truth. When Billy pointed him, “You are aware that it would vindicate all his negative feelings about your truthfulness?” Michael only shrugged. 

When Petros was discharged from the hospital Michael took him home. His house was placed on the bank the Potomac River in Langley. The neighborhood wasn’t the best place for living and the house wasn’t too comfortable but Michael had used all his skills to make it safe. He settled Petros in the spare room and left him alone to rest. 

In the evening he entered Petros’ room holding a tray with dishes in his hands. Petros was lying in bed looking too weak and pale and Michael had to use all his actor’s skills to smile at him nonchalantly when he proclaimed, “Time for dinner.”

Petros turned his head and looked at him. Michael was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, and the casual clothes made him look different. It was easy to forget who he really was. And sure as hell it was almost impossible not to melt away in his beauty and charisma. 

“Not hungry,” Petros forced himself to answer. 

“You have to eat. You’ve lost too much blood.”

“Maybe later.”

“Okay. Then I change your bandages now and after that you’ll eat.” Michael said placing the tray on a nightstand. 

Petros sighed and asked, “Can you just leave me alone?”

“No. Never.”

That sounded frightening… and promising.

Michael disappeared in the hallway and soon he returned carrying the first aid kit. He placed it on the bed and opened a lid. Petros was surprised to see a lot of vials inside. He reached out and picked one. Ketamine. The next one was benzodiazepine. 

“Do you know what to do with all this stuff?” he asked Michael.

“U-hu. I studied pre-med for two years. But don’t worry, I don’t plan to use that shit on you, I'm just gonna change your bandages.”

“Bastard.”

Michael smiled his maddening lop-sided grin. Petros cursed under his breath and sat up in bed. He started to undo the top buttons of his shirt but because of his broken collarbone he could use only one hand, and even that hand was trembling with weakness.

“Let me,” Michael drawled covering his fingers with his own. Petros nodded and freed his hand. 

Michael’s slim nimble fingers quickly unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it off Petros’ shoulders. The smooth hairless chest grabbed Michael’s attention but he forced himself to get down to business. He undressed the wounds and was glad to see that they were healing well. He treated the wounds and bandaged them again. Completing the task, he was in no hurry to straighten the shirt. Petros’ ivory skin mesmerized him, and he stroked it with his fingertips. 

Petros shivered and said, his soft voice sounded hoarse, “Don’t you have to be on guard waiting for that assassin?” 

Michael sighed and straightened Petros' clothes, then answered, “No. We’ve got that bastard.”

“When?”

“The first day in the hospital. He was impatient.”

Petros looked at him suspiciously. All his doubts arose with renewed force. Michael saw that clearly in his eyes.

“You’re thinking if those assassins existed at all,” he said. “They existed, Petros.”

“If he's already under arrest, why am I here?”

For the first time Michael lost his composure. He got up from the bed and turned away from Petros.

“You will not believe me if I tell you,” he said finally.

Petros laughed bitterly. “Michael, truth and you aren’t a likely mix.”

He deserved that, but he had to tell the truth this time. “You’re here because I want to share my home with you.”

“What?”

Michael turned around and looked into Petros’ confused eyes. 

“I didn't plan it. It wasn't supposed to happen to me. I tried it once and failed. I give up everything for the job. No stability, no family, no one to come home to at night. And then I met you. My second chance to share my life with someone. I'm not gonna lose it.”

Petros was stunned. “Are you telling me that you fell in love with me?”

“Hell, I don’t know what that means. Billy said I’m obsessed with you. If that obsession and the desire to have you by my side for the rest of my life mean love – then yes, I fell in love with you.”

Petros leaned his head back against a pillow and closed his eyes. His head was spinning and he was ready to believe that Michael furtively injected him with an hallucinogen from his first aid kit. That couldn’t be true. 

Michael went to the bed and knelt before it. He held out his hand and touched Petros’ ashen face.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly. 

“You smashed my world into pieces and now you're asking if I’m okay?”

“Right, a stupid question. I’m leaving you now as you're not up for a conversation like this.”

Michael started to withdraw his hand but Petros grabbed it and squeezed Michael’s wrist. 

“No. Don’t go.”

“Petros…”

“I agreed to working with the CIA because of you. Was thinking about you since that night at the Sultan’s palace. Damn, you made me want to change my whole life that night. And when you found me in Karlsruhe and seduced me, I lost my mind completely.”

Michael smiled and repeated, “Seduced? Don’t remember it that way. More likely you were one who seduced me.”

“Bastard.”

“Oh yeah.”

Michael leaned over Petros and touched his lips with his own. Their kiss was light at first, but then it became greedy, demanding, as if they wanted to catch up on what they had missed. Suddenly Michael felt Petros go limp. He pulled away and looked at the unconscious body, then patted Petros’ pale cheeks. Petros opened his bleary eyes and tried to focus at Michael’s face.

“You can work undercover as a virgin,” Michael drawled, and a nasty lop-sided grin curled his lips again.

“Fuck you,” Petros hissed.

“The first thing I'll do when you get well,” Michael promised. 

END


End file.
